Most of us, at some point in our lives, have faced the dubious honour of being set up with a blind date. This typically occurs when those friends who are closest to you decide that you have been enjoying single life far too much and that the time has come for you to get back “out there”.
Being subject to the attentions of friends in this manner always comes with a double edge. On the one hand it is reassuring to know they care for you so much that they want to match you with somebody who will appreciate your erudite charms and sparkling personality. On the other hand, it’s a tad perturbing that they think of you as this pathetic loser.
Friends know the muffled insult the mention of a blind date can imply and so carefully avoid the term when broaching the possibility of introducing you to somebody they think you’ll like. But you know what they’re up to.
“This isn’t a blind date, is it” you ask, eyeing them suspiciously.
“No no no, it’s not, we swear, no way,” they insist. Then they say, “Oh, you’ll love him. He got the best personality,” which is usually code meaning the Man either has halitosis, a moustache or affiliations with the National Socialist Movement.
But you figure, hell, what have I got to lose? Even if things go badly it’ll get me out of the house and I’ll have an amusing anecdote for the next time my friends set me up with a moustachioed Nazi with bad breath.
So I agreed to meet this man, even though there is a FA Cup on cable.
I must confess I did get a little nervous while waiting in the restaurant. I didn’t have an exit strategy in case things went off beam, such as arranging for the phony “emergency call” a half hour into date. I braced myself for a rough night.
Then he arrived.
Well, what can I say? Five minutes after we kissed hello I was in Heaven. He had described himself on the phone as being “a little on the shy side” but I could tell straight off that he felt as relaxed with me as I was with him.
He was wonderful. He was charming, attractive, had a great sense of humour, excellent taste in literatune and had a love of classical music equal to mine.
Nobody’s perfect, though, and if I had to nitpick and find fault with this man, I guess his sole drawback was that he was 50- feet tall.
It’s one of those things that if you pretend to ignored it the other person become self-conscious, so just came right out.
“You’re a little taller than I thought you’d be,” I said gingerly.
“You never said anything,”
“I was worried it might put you off,” he said.
“Oh, don’t be silly,” I said with a very sophisticated chuckle. “To be honest, I didn’t really notice at first. I just thought you were wearing pumps.”
Now, admittedly, there is some downside to dating a 50- foot man. Pre-dinner drinks, for instance, can cost you a small fortune, especially when his gin and tonics come in a glass the size of an ice bucket. The meal, too, can test your credit card limit. Luckily, he was dieting and so only an entrée consisting of six sides of beef lightly glazed with four kegs of honey sauce and garnished by seven bushels of parsley.
Sneezing, too, can be a problem. Fortunately he turned away, which was good news for me but bad news for the people on tables 16, 19 and 24 who found themselves sailing through the front window and onto the street.
But these inconveniences are easily outweighed by the advantages. For a start, you get no attitude from the waiter, lets he wants to be pummeled into the floor as he hammers his fist down onto his head. Also, anybody rude enough to use a mobile phone in a restaurant – and foolish enough to do so within earshot of 50 - foot man – can soon find themselves being over-armed into the next postcode.
And you quickly find the expense of feeding a 50-foot man is offset by the savings in transport costs, never mind taking a cab to that night-club. He just picks you up and, two steps later, you’re there. And forget about all that waiting-in-line nonsense. When you’re with a 50-foot man you not only go straight in, admission is free. Just like the drinks. And you pretty much have the run of the dance-floor.
We ended up having a splendid evening, although the kiss goodnight took five and a half hours as there was so much area to cover. We are still seeing each other, and even though we talk every single day the cost is very low because the other great thing about dating a 50-foot man is that when he calls he doesn’t need a phone.
I must confess I did get a little nervous while waiting in the restaurant. I didn’t have an exit strategy in case things went off beam, such as arranging for the phony “emergency call” a half hour into date. I braced myself for a rough night.
Then he arrived.
Well, what can I say? Five minutes after we kissed hello I was in Heaven. He had described himself on the phone as being “a little on the shy side” but I could tell straight off that he felt as relaxed with me as I was with him.
He was wonderful. He was charming, attractive, had a great sense of humour, excellent taste in literatune and had a love of classical music equal to mine.
Nobody’s perfect, though, and if I had to nitpick and find fault with this man, I guess his sole drawback was that he was 50- feet tall.
It’s one of those things that if you pretend to ignored it the other person become self-conscious, so just came right out.
“You’re a little taller than I thought you’d be,” I said gingerly.
“You never said anything,”
“I was worried it might put you off,” he said.
“Oh, don’t be silly,” I said with a very sophisticated chuckle. “To be honest, I didn’t really notice at first. I just thought you were wearing pumps.”
Now, admittedly, there is some downside to dating a 50- foot man. Pre-dinner drinks, for instance, can cost you a small fortune, especially when his gin and tonics come in a glass the size of an ice bucket. The meal, too, can test your credit card limit. Luckily, he was dieting and so only an entrée consisting of six sides of beef lightly glazed with four kegs of honey sauce and garnished by seven bushels of parsley.
Sneezing, too, can be a problem. Fortunately he turned away, which was good news for me but bad news for the people on tables 16, 19 and 24 who found themselves sailing through the front window and onto the street.
But these inconveniences are easily outweighed by the advantages. For a start, you get no attitude from the waiter, lets he wants to be pummeled into the floor as he hammers his fist down onto his head. Also, anybody rude enough to use a mobile phone in a restaurant – and foolish enough to do so within earshot of 50 - foot man – can soon find themselves being over-armed into the next postcode.
And you quickly find the expense of feeding a 50-foot man is offset by the savings in transport costs, never mind taking a cab to that night-club. He just picks you up and, two steps later, you’re there. And forget about all that waiting-in-line nonsense. When you’re with a 50-foot man you not only go straight in, admission is free. Just like the drinks. And you pretty much have the run of the dance-floor.
We ended up having a splendid evening, although the kiss goodnight took five and a half hours as there was so much area to cover. We are still seeing each other, and even though we talk every single day the cost is very low because the other great thing about dating a 50-foot man is that when he calls he doesn’t need a phone.
Till then my dear, it was great to go for a 'date' one in awhile, you'll discover alot of things, but my friends, don't put too much/high expection on the other half, just enjoy it!
I remember, my late father told me once: "If this felt so right we should go for it and see where the piece fell. What happens when you meet Mr. Right too soon? You grab him. There’s no such thing is too soon." and he always right! thanks Dad...
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